“Move, dog,” he said as he opened the door. “What’s up?” Thad greeted.
Puddin’ went into full-on attack mode, zeroing in on Von’s shoelace.
“What the hell is that?” Von asked as he tried to shake the dog off his foot.
“Puddin’, heel!” Thad barked. The poodle backed off the shoelace and huffed at Thad.
“Don’t tell me this is your grams’s dog?” Von asked.
“Von, meet Puddin’,” Thad deadpanned.
“I know you’re fucking lying.” Von burst out laughing.
“I wish,” Thad said, motioning for him to come inside.
“No way,” Von said as he followed Thad into the kitchen. “No way your grams stuck you with a half-naked poodle named Puddin’.”
“You bring any of that barbecue from earlier today?” Thad asked.
“No, but I did bring some good news,” Von said, holding up his phone. “I checked out that place on Royal and Clouet, and it’s perfect. There’s a bar a few blocks away, but it has a completely different vibe. Caters more to the hippie crowd.”
“I didn’t know there was a hippie crowd in New Orleans,” Thad said, taking a pull on his beer.
“Dude, this place is Hippie Central. I can’t look out my window without seeing a skinny white guy with dreads riding a bicycle.” He turned the phone to face Thad. “Here’s what makes this place perfect for us. You cross St. Claude Avenue and five minutes later you’re at Jackson Barracks. Head a little farther into Chalmette and you’ve got the National Guard and the Coast Guards all within ten minutes of it.”
Thad squinted at the map Von had pulled up. New Orleans’s neighborhoods were so distinct in their character and flavor that it was easy to forget just how compact the city was.
“It really is the perfect location,” Thad mused. “Even if the jarheads decide to make the trip across the Mississippi from Federal City, it would only take them fifteen minutes, tops. And if we stick to our plan, The PX will become a destination spot. People will be willing to travel to hang out there.” He looked up at Von. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
Von held up his phone. “I already contacted the real estate agent. He can meet us there at six.”
Thad gulped down the last of his beer as he shot out of his chair. He held up the bottle and said, “We need to have thisone on tap,” as he and Von made it through the kitchen and the den on their way out the door.
He’d reached the second step when he heard a godawful howl coming from the other side of the door.
“Shit,” Thad said. He gestured for Von to continue. “Go, go. He’ll be fine.”
“Puddin’ is a he? Whose idea was it to put that rhinestone collar on him?”
“Probably the damn dog sitter,” Thad said.
He hopped into the passenger seat of Von’s Dodge Challenger and closed the door. He could still hear the dog’s howl.
Thad threw his head back and cursed at the car’s low ceiling.
“I can’t leave him here making all that noise,” he said. “Someone’s going to call animal control.”
“That dog’s not getting in this car,” Von said. “We’re going in your truck. Good thing it’s a quad cab.”
Five minutes later, he and Von were in his truck with Puddin’s head resting between them on the center console that Thad had covered with duct tape.
Thad looked at Puddin’, then at Von.
“I hate this fucking dog.”
6
Alittle more to the left.”
